


A Fragile Sort of Okay

by popsicletheduck



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Survivor Guilt, Whump, Young Tim, bruce tries but he's not a great dad, i mean it's tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2019-07-24 22:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16184888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popsicletheduck/pseuds/popsicletheduck
Summary: After a night of solo patrol, Tim's okay.Really, he's fine.Really





	A Fragile Sort of Okay

Tim arrived back at the Cave, tried to school his features into something more positive, or at least neutral.

Because he was okay, really he was.

Nothing to worry about.

Nope.

He was okay.

The car slowed to a stop, the sounds of the engine echoing away, replaced by the distant sounds of dripping water and shuffling bats. 

For one blissful second as he stepped out he through the Cave was empty, that he’d be able to get through without seeing anyone, but then-

“Tim? Are you okay?” Bruce. And Bruce knew already, of course he knew, he was the goddamn Batman of course he knew but-

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Tim tried to smile a bit, tried to keep his eyes wide and open, his brow unwrinkled because really, he was okay.

He was okay.

“Tim. I know this is-” And Bruce was reaching, a hand to his shoulder and-

And Tim stepped back, just a touch, just a step, just a calculated distance. 

Just far enough that Bruce’s reach was just a little too short.

For a millisecond his hand hung between them, an unspoken question.

“If you’ll excuse me, Bruce, it’s been a long day, I’m going to go shower and go to bed.”

“Yeah. Yeah of course Tim. Go get some rest.”

Tim turned to the showers, knowing Bruce was watching him. So he didn’t stumble, didn’t stutter, didn’t hunch in on himself. Why would he, after all?

He was okay.

He showered quickly (ignoring the desire to stand motionless under the scalding spray forever, because he was okay), changed quickly (shoving away the sudden thought to curl up in the pile of warm laundry, because he was okay) and walked back into the Cave, just caught Bruce’s sudden turn back to the monitors. 

Silence followed him across the expanse of stone floor, right to the steps until-

“Goodnight, Tim,” Bruce called.

“Goodnight, Bruce.” His voice was light and unbothered, it didn’t crack, didn’t quiver, didn’t tremble. 

He was okay.

He was okay, even if it was a fragile sort of okay, where his chest ached, where his jaw was clenched tight, where he could feel the hot pinpricks in the back of his eyes.

Where he had to his mind blank to avoid thinking about what happened because if he did, god if he did-

Tim made it as far as his bedroom, made it just inside the door, heard the latch click with a desperate finality before he broke, fell to pieces, slid to the floor and curled in on himself, sobs torn from his chest, tears raining down his face.

He was useless, worthless, a failure. He didn’t deserve the mantle, didn’t deserve to be a hero, not when there were others who had done better, who did better. He had only ever wanted to save people and he couldn’t. When it came right down to it, when people really needed him, he failed. And it wouldn’t have mattered if he was the one in the grave, but it never was. It never was it was always someone else, some life he couldn’t save while he was still living, still breathing, still failing…

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there (long enough that his chest hurt, that his eyes burned from scrubbing away the tears, that his sleeves were soaked, that he’d stopped trying to wipe them away and instead just let them roll off his chin) before there was a knock at the door.

He closed his mouth, tried to bite down on a sob, to trap it in his teeth, his body shaking with the effort.

“Tim?” Dick, and god even Dick knew, knew how worthless he was, how completely and utterly  _ useless _ , how-

“Tim? Please open the door.”

He didn’t have to. If he stayed quiet maybe Dick would just go away. He could just stay here…

He didn’t want comfort, didn’t want someone to say it wasn’t his fault because it was, didn’t want someone to say he just had to keep going because he already knew he had to, didn’t want to feel better when he deserved to feel worse.

“I know you’re in there, I...I can hear you. Just...let me in. Please.”

It was inevitable and he didn’t have the strength to fight it. So he stretched and scooted and opened the door.

Dick was by his side in an instant, strong arms around him, pulling him closer. “Tim-”

“I’m okay,” he pushed out between clenched teeth, desperately trying to scrub away the tears that were still falling, to hold back the sobs that still rattled his body.

There was silence for a moment or two, until softly, gently, “Tim. You don’t have to be okay. With what you went through tonight-”

“I couldn’t save them!” His voice was too high, too loud. He knew that and he couldn’t stop it. “They needed a hero and I couldn’t be that for them! They deserve to live, and I don’t deserve to be Robin!”

Too loud, his shout echoed faintly through the empty halls behind, reverberated through the nigh desolate Manor.

“You can’t save everyone,” Dick finally offered, his voice still gentle but mixed with something else, something deeper, guilt and regret and sorrow all mixed together, ”but that doesn’t mean-”

“Then how do I always save myself?”

He spoke softly, but Dick stopped speaking as if he had yelled. Instead he pulled Tim closer, one hand rubbing gently along his back, still shaking with repressed sobs. Tim buried his face in Dick’s shirt, let the soft fabric soak up his tears, at least for the moment.

So he felt the breath before the words, soft but insistent. “Tim, please, please never forget to save yourself.”

He had only ever wanted to save people.

He wasn’t okay.


End file.
